


Stripped

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mirror Universe, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk knows that if he wants to keep Sulu in line, he has to find his weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stripped

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the third round of Kink Bingo on DW. Prompt: breathplay.
> 
> Warnings for mirror verse and related dub-con, D/s, choking/asphyxiation, some violence.

Like any captain worth his salt, James T. Kirk likes to think he knows his crew fairly well. That is to say, he knows almost every member's main weakness. Some have been easier to surmise than others. With McCoy, it's always been his daughter, a pretty little girl with McCoy's eyes that Kirk can use to get anything he wants out of his chief medical officer. Spock and Uhura are made weak by their loyalty to each other, the romantic halfwits. Try as he might, Kirk can't figure out how such a pair of tactical geniuses can be so utterly stupid. And Chekov? Well, Kirk isn't sure yet about Chekov, the little brainiac with the sharpened smile and murderous reflexes. He's working on it.

Then there's Sulu. Stoic and calculating Sulu, with his burning gaze and severe scowl, his swords that so easily strip quivering flesh from bone. With his roving gaze and tight ass swishing all throughout the ship like a signed and delivered invitation, Kirk often wants to believe that he knows exactly what Sulu's weakness is. But then he thinks of former Chief of Security Henderson and recalls exactly how Sulu took over his esteemed position. Kirk has no interest in ending up as Henderson did: a prone body in a dark room, cut to pieces on a bed painted with blood. He has a reputation to uphold, after all.

So Kirk waits. He waits and watches, even though he knows that Sulu is secretly plotting, possibly with the enigmatic Chekov but most likely alone. Kirk returns Sulu's stormy glances with bland smiles and pretends he doesn't see the murder in his eyes, black and unfeeling as space itself.

The truth, as it tends to be, is ever so simple.

It's a routine takeover mission that reveals it. The Ptelfari make a show of cowering before the Empire, but then weapons are drawn upon the landing party's arrival and Kirk has to slice some throats in exchange for his day being ruined. In truth, he expected the reversal of fortune; the Ptelfari are well-known as the lying scum of their sector. But Kirk didn't bother informing the other landing party members of this possibility. If they're not clever enough to do their own research, then they deserve to die at the hands of an inferior species.

"Bones," he says to McCoy when things calm down. "Everyone accounted for?"

"Davidson and Marcón are dead," McCoy answers roughly. "And no one's seen your idiot chief of security anywhere."

"Sulu?" Kirk looks up in surprise as Spock joins them.

"Captain," he greets Kirk. "I have been informed that Mr. Sulu has been taken hostage. One of the Ptelfari warlords has offered negotiations in hopes of collecting a ransom from the Empire." Spock arches his brow, a nearly bemused expression on his blood-spattered face. It is pretty funny, considering that they're practically knee-deep in dead Ptelfari warriors.

"Some chief of security," McCoy gripes. "Getting himself kidnapped by a bunch of mouth-breathing quadrupeds."

Kirk nods, inclined to agree. He expects better from Sulu, considering the kind of bloodshed he's seen the guy inflict in the past. He thinks fondly of a bonding moment spent flinging the skewered bodies of Romulans off that shitty excuse for a drill and cracks a small smile.

"Unacceptable behavior on Sulu's part, but I'm feeling generous today," Kirk says, to Spock and McCoy's shared surprise. "Let's go 'negotiate.' Hell, it could be fun."

"'Fun,' Captain?" Spock asks, looking unconvinced.

"As in 'tons of,' yeah," Kirk answers. He leads them forward, batting McCoy away when he tries to scan Kirk's head for lumps.

The sight that greets them when they get to the main palace is a pathetic one at that. Some brutish Ptelfari warlord has got Sulu in a hold by the neck, practically swinging him to and fro for all to see. Sulu's like a busted and beaten doll, barely breathing in the warlord's meaty grip. His normally sharp eyes have been reduced to empty, wavering slits and his lips are bluish and slack. It's obvious that just a bit more pressure will break the fragile channel of Sulu's windpipe and render him a useless sack of bones. It's the understatement of the year, however, to say that Kirk's seen worse.

"Fucking dismal," McCoy grouses, shaking his head. "This is the guy meant to protect your ship?"

"Captain, I find myself in concurrence with Doctor McCoy," Spock says smoothly. "We would do well to leave Mr. Sulu to his demise and find a superior candidate for chief of security."

"Hold on, I'm still in shock over you two agreeing over something," Kirk quips. He turns back to the show before them, already itching to grab his phaser and kill Sulu and the overgrown beast in one shot, just to show how much he _doesn't_ give a shit. But then he notices something interesting. _Very_ interesting.

Sulu is hard. So hard that he's about to burst out of his regulation trousers. He's sputtering for air, a few shaky breaths away from the cold grip of death, and he looks as though he could fuck his way through a sex marathon and still be up—ha, up—for more.

Kirk grins. There's nothing more satisfying in his book than a good bit of leverage.

"Name your terms," he says, stepping forward. The warlord flashes a smile jam-packed with far too many teeth. Sulu falls to the dusty ground, coughing hoarsely and gasping for air. Kirk doesn't see the look McCoy and Spock exchange behind his back, but he imagines it's priceless.

When they beam back to the ship, Chekov looks startled to see Sulu on the transporter pad, his weak body held up with Kirk's support. Kirk hands Sulu off to McCoy and walks over to Chekov, clapping his shoulder.

"Don't look so shocked, Ensign," he says. "Go ahead and make Ptelfara a fond memory, will you?"

Spock steps forward. "But Captain, the Empire—"

"Ah, they'll live. It was an ugly planet anyway. Ensign, do the honors."

"Yes, Sir," Chekov answers sulkily. He goes to the helm, where he presses the proper buttons to make the piddling planet disappear.

Back in his quarters some time later, Kirk comms McCoy and orders him to send Sulu over as soon as he's done patching him up. He imagines McCoy is having fun, actually getting the chance to heal someone for once. And he does a good job, too. When Sulu shows up, back to his old, stern-faced self, his neck looks flawless, that dark ring of bruises and broken capillaries completely erased. Kirk reclines in his armchair and orders the door locked while Sulu stands there, hands at his sides.

"Throw down all your weapons," Kirk orders. He watches as Sulu tosses a phaser to the floor, as well as his trusty katana. Kirk yawns. "I said, _all_ your weapons, Mr. Sulu?" The security chief frowns deeply and extracts another small blade from his boot. Kirk idly wonders if Sulu carries a razor blade in his mouth the way Chekov does, but it's likely that only the Russian kid is crazy enough to do that.

When Kirk approaches, Sulu doesn't flinch or move a muscle. The coldness is back in his eyes. Truthfully, Kirk likes them better this way. Kirk leans in so their mouths are mere centimeters apart.

"Speak freely, Mr. Sulu," he says.

Sulu's eyes narrow. "I suppose you expect me to be your bitch now," he murmurs. Kirk smiles.

"I think the words you're looking for are, 'Thank you for sparing my worthless, ineffectual hide, Captain Kirk.' But I'll let it slide this time."

"You had no reason to spare me," Sulu counters. He keeps his voice low. "You must have some ulterior motive."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. I run this ship on ulterior motives, you know. That's what makes me a good captain." Kirk cocks his head, running his eyes over Sulu. "And you're a lousy excuse for a security chief, between getting yourself held for ransom and walking around my ship like you own it. Swaying that ass like you're begging to be fucked, balls deep."

Sulu's eyes widen marginally. It's fast—the flicker of his hand as he reaches back for yet another well-concealed weapon—but Kirk is faster. He grabs Sulu by the wrist and twists hard, until he hears a firm snapping sound and Sulu hisses in pain. Kirk shoulders Sulu against the wall and lays a forearm across his chest, applying enough pressure to make Sulu jerk and grunt in a delightful mix of pleasure and agony. Kirk's grin shows nearly all his teeth.

"You're not a _bad_ officer," Kirk says. He relishes in the feel of Sulu's hot, stuttered breaths against his smiling lips. "But you're not too observant, either. I am. And now that I know exactly how to keep you in line, I plan on taking full advantage of that information."

Kirk reaches down to cup Sulu's growing erection, squeezing and twisting without mercy. He shifts his arm to apply pressure to the bare expanse of Sulu's throat. It all has Sulu bucking and groaning, the bulge in his pants becoming full and hot in Kirk's palm.

"You tell anyone," Sulu wheezes, clutching Kirk's tunic with his good hand, "a-and I'll kill you."

"Oh, I'm keeping this one all to myself," Kirk says. "I'm not going to tell _anyone_ what a weak, kinky son of a bitch you are, Sulu. How being choked," and he leans more of his weight forward, causing Sulu's eyes to roll back in his head, "puts you right on the verge of coming in your pants, ready to beg for more."

Sulu's dark eyelashes flutter, that emptiness beginning to swirl in his widened pupils again, and huh, that's rather pretty up close. He opens his mouth to speak and Kirk lets up a little so he can manage it.

"What—what do you want?" he rasps.

"Well. It's simple." Kirk leans forward and nudges their noses together. "I'll give you what you want—choking you like the dirty whore you are and reaming your ass with my big dick—whenever you want it. And, in exchange, you remain completely loyal to me. You drop all your bullshit assassination plans and you turn in whoever is working against me. Especially now that, thanks to you, I've got rumors to squash about me going soft."

Sulu thrashes and pulls on Kirk's tunic, thrusting his hips forward. "H-how do I know…you won't kill me?"

"A loyal security chief is a unique and valuable asset, Sulu. I won't kill you as long as you bring me all the heads that need to roll and _do your fucking job_ for once. Do we have a deal?"

Sulu makes a pained sound. It's obvious that he doesn't believe a word Kirk says. And Kirk can't blame him; he's bound to squeeze a little too hard on the inevitable day he gets tired of this game. But Sulu's dick, pulsing and needy against Kirk's hand, says that he wants this— _craves_ it. Kirk can't help but smile. If he'd known that Sulu would be so easy to break, he'd have done it months ago.

"Y-yes," Sulu says between gritted teeth. "Deal."

Kirk's soaring sense of triumph has him erect in seconds flat. He licks his lips and pushes Sulu toward the bed.

A few minutes later, and Sulu is naked and trussed up with rope that Kirk procured from the replicator, a hangman's noose around his neck. Kirk sprawls out on the mattress and watches as Sulu rides his cock, moving achingly slow at Kirk's behest, his arms tied to his sides and all movement restricted from the waist up. Sulu's hole stretches around the girth of Kirk's cock, and he makes breathy, wordless noises as Kirk plunges deeper with each stroke. Kirk decides that as much as he enjoys the typically unnerving bite of Sulu's glare, he likes this version as well—the way Sulu's eyes shift into dark voids as he glides up and down Kirk's cock. His irises glaze over beautifully as Kirk tugs on the rope of Sulu's noose with a near tenderness, restricting Sulu's breath little by little with every thrust of his hips. Kirk enjoys having the power to change Sulu's eyes like that. Sulu looks so far away, stripped of all coherence, his reddened, leaking cock bobbing against his stomach, and it's a sight that Kirk thinks he could fall in love with. Kirk lets himself fuck into that sinfully round, tight ass without mercy, just as he's wanted to for months, and when he finally releases, it feels nothing short of perfect. Sulu, out of breath and close to the edge of oblivion, comes without a single touch from Kirk.

It's a terrible weakness that Sulu has, but unlike the other boring miscreant geniuses on Kirk's ship, it's an enjoyable one. When Kirk wakes the next morning to find a beaten, hogtied Chekov at his front door, and a note with a bloodied razor blade attached, he can't help but smirk.

 _Rumors squashed_ , the note reads. _Yours, S_

Kirk pockets both the note and the blade, and then regards Chekov, half-conscious and curled on the floor.

"Too trusting," he says, smiling openly. It's a well-known fact that everyone has a weakness.


End file.
